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Born  August  z8th,  1908 
Died  January  29th,  1919 


I 


Our  Boys 

and 

Other  Poems 


by 

ALAN  L.  STRANG 

California's 

BOY  POET 


Copyrighted,  1919 
BY  J.  L    STRANG 


GIFT 


Introduction 


Alan  L.  Strang  was  born  in  Spokane, 
Washington,  August  18,  1908.  Living  there 
until  he  was  four  years  old,  he  came  to  Cal- 
ifornia in  1913  with  his  parents,  making 
their  home  in  Redwood  City. 

He  had  a  gentle,  loving  disposition,  was 
always  frail  and  delicate  and  possessed  a 
mental  development  far  in  advance  of  his 
years.  He  was  taken  to  the  Great  Beyond 
January  29,  1919. 

The  poems  contained  in  this  book  were 
written  prior  to  his  tenth  birthday.  Consid- 
ering the  age  of  the  author  we  feel  that  the 
work  contains  real  merit,  while  the  senti- 
ment expressed  betokens  that  patriotic 
spirit  which  never  fails  or  hesitates  when 
our  country  calls  for  men.  J.  L.  S. 


ufo  %  Seator  of  tftH  look 


This  little  book's  a  letter, 

I  send  direct  to  you; 
I  hope  that  you  will  like  it, 
And  read  it  thru  and  thru. 
And  after  you  have  read  it, 

Just  send  a  thot  to  me; 
Your  thots  will  help  to  make  me 
The  "Poet"  I  would  be. 
Yours  very  truly, 

ALAN  L.  STRANG, 
Redwood  City,  California. 


Written      after  the      United 

States       entered  the       war, 

fighting    on    the  side    of    the 
Entente  Allies. 


—12— 


ODur  lop 


Halt!    Attention!    Salute  the  flag, 

The  boys  are  marching  by; 
They're  going  forth  to  win  the  war 

For  us  to  do  or  die. 
Our  country  needed  fighting  men, 

Her  liberty  to  save; 
These  boys  responded  to  the  call, 

And  all  they  had  they  gave. 

All  loyal  hearts  are  beating  fast, 

And  hope  our  bosoms  fill; 
For  liberty  shall  reign  supreme 

O'er  ocean,  dale  and  hill. 
With  no  regrets  for  parted  hopes 

Or  futures  cast  aside, 
Our  soldier  boys  are  marching  by; 

They  are  our  country's  pride. 


Written  as  a  tribute  to  my 
brother,  W.  M.  Strang-,  with 
the  Engineer*. 


— 14 — 


He  said,  "I'm  Daddy's  soldier  boy," 
When  he  was  five  years  old; 

And  then  went  out  and  built  snow 
forts, 
Although  the  day  was  cold. 

The  snowballs  were  his  hand 
grenades, 

A  stick  his  bayonette; 
And  with  a  home-made  wooden  gun 

The  foe  he  bravely  met. 

In  five  more  years  he  joined  the 
''scouts" 

And  hiked  across  the  hills; 
He  learned  to  wear  a  khaki  suit, 

And  do  military  drills. 

And  so  the  years  passed  swiftly  on, 

And  now  he  is  a  man; 
He's  in  the  trenches  over  there, 

Fighting  for  Uncle  Sam. 

I  know  he'll  make  the  Huns  regret 
They  started  this  big  fight, 

For  he  knows  the  cause  he's  fight- 
ing for 
Is  liberty  and  right. 

—15— 


A  £>maU  In's 


Written    for    the    first    thrift 
stamp  drive. 


I  want  to  be  a  soldier 

And  march  away  to  Prance; 
I  want  to  find  a  wicked  "Hun," 

And  shoot  him  in  the  pants. 

I  want  to  be  a  soldier, 

And  wear  a  khaki  suit; 
I  want  to  have  a  sword  and  gun 

And  all  the  "Boches"  shoot. 

I  want  to  be  a  soldier, 

and  have  an  aeroplane 
To   drop    bom/bs   on   the    German 
towns, 

And  fly  back  home  again. 

I  want  to  be  a  soldier 

And  do  my  little  bit; 
My    country    needs    brave    fighting 
men, 

While  here  at  home  I  sit. 

Some  day  I'll  be  a  big,  big  man; 

I'll  go  to  war  and  fight 
The  wicked  Hun,  or  any  one 

Who  does  not  do  what's  right. 

But  now  the  only  way  for  me 
To  help  my  country  win, 

Is   save   my  coin   and   buy  thrift 
stamps, 
So,  boys,  let's  save  our  tin. 


The  rough  old  Mr.  Storm 
Is  whirling,  swirling  past 
He  makes  the  treetops  bow  their 

heads 
And  trembles  at  his  blast. 

He  never  stops  to  think 
of  the  damage  he  may  do, 

He's  always  rushing  in  and  out 
And  hitting,  batting  you. 

He  pushes  big,  black  clouds 

Against  the  mountain  tops; 
The  rain  and  hail  comes  rushing 

down 
In  large,  round  crystal  drops. 

The  storm  will  soon  be  over; 

See  the  rainbow  in  the  sky. 
The  birds  will  sing  on  airy  wing, 

And  the  bright  sun  shine  on  high. 


in  Not 


—JO— 


in  Nnt  Wnrnj 

S 


Do  not  worry  over  trifles,  though 
to  you  they  may  seem  great, 

All  your  fretting  will  not  help  you, 
or  your  troubles  dissipate. 

If  your  sky  is  dark  and  gloomy, 
and  the  sun  is  hid  from  view, 

Bravely  smile  and  keep  on  smiling. 

And  your  friends  will  smile  with 
you. 

Happiness  is  so  contagious,  and  a 

smile  is  never  lost; 
Then  why  worry  over  trifles,  tho 
your  heart  seems  tempest  tossed. 

Therefore    go    on     life's    journey 
with  an  optimistic  smile, 

See  the  world  is  good  to  live  in, 
and  that  living  is  worth  while. 


ran  ror 


Written  when  the  clock  was 
set  ahead  one  hour  on  April 
1,  1918. 


l^nro  ran  rop  Jffonl 


Our    Rooster    wakes    at    half-past 

five 

And  crows  with  all  his  might, 
H3e  tries  to  wake  the  people  up 
Before  the  day  is  light. 
When    Daddy    hears    the    rooster 

crow 

He  knows  he  should  awake 
And  light  the  kitchen  fire,  so  Mn 
Can  cook  the  Johnny  cake. 

Now,  maybe  we  can  fool  my  Dad 
That  it's  half-past  five  when  it's 

half-past  four, 
And  maybe  the  system's  the  best  we 

have  had 
To  fool  some  thousands  of  people 

or  more; 
But,  how  can  we  fool  that  rooster? 


—23— 


If  otu  ran  ro? 
Unnaier? 


(Continued) 


ran  ro? 


I  have  always  thought  our  rooster 

had 

A  clock  inside  of  his  head, 
And  I  don't  know  how  we  can  fix  it 

so 

We  can  set  the  clock  ahead. 
I  asked  my  Dad,  and  he  said  to  me, 
"Why,  son,  you  surely  know 
A  rooster's  instinct  wakens  him 
And  tells  him  when  to  crow." 

Now  the  hands  of  the  clock  we  can 

turn  ahead, 
We  can  fool  the  people  and   feel 

content; 
But  the  thing  that  worries  me  night 

and  day, 
And  on  which  my  entire  thought 

is  bent 
Is,  how  can  we  fool  that  rooster? 


A  Wr^ all?  of 
Jfflntum 


Written    for    Decoration    Day, 
May   30,   1918. 


—26— 


A  Homil  0f 


I  wove  me  a  wreath  of  flowers 

To  place  in  memories  hall, 
In  honor  of  the  brave  and  fearless 
men 

Who  had  answered  our  country's 
call. 

The  men  who  had  answered,  and 
fought,  and  died 
For  the  cause   of  freedom,  our 
country's  pride! 

I  wove  me  a  wrath  of  flowers 
With  many  a  sigh  and  tear, 

As  a  tribute  to  all  the  good  and 
true 
Who  were  given  few  honors  here. 

The  man  of  humble  piety 
Who^lived  and  died  in  obscurity. 

A  wreath  of  flowers,  a  little  thing 

For  flowers  wither  and  fade; 
But  the  fragrance  they  shed  is  not 

soon  forgot 

By    me,    who    the    wreath    has 
made. 
So    the    virtues    of   those    who   have 

gone  before, 

Will    always  be    treasured  in    mem- 
ory's store. 

—27— 


A  Wreatt  of 


(Continued) 


A  Wraitfc  of 


EPITAPH 

Our    loved    ones    lay   them   down   to 

sleep 

And  leave  us  here  to  grieve  and 

mourn, 
While   we,   our   silent   watches   keep, 

O'er     their     low     graves     whence 

they  are  bourne. 
Some  heroes  are  in  battle  slain, 
Their     names     are     honored     far 

and  near, 

While    others    die    on    beds    of    pain 
And  no  sad  mourner  sheds  a  tear. 

'This  day  we  honor  each  and  all 
Whose   soul   has   left   its   temporal 
case; 

And   be  he  great,  or  be  he   small, 
We'll  reverence  his  resting  place. 


Part  Second 


The  poems  and  story  of  Masata  in  part 
second  of  this  book  were  written  during  the 
last  month  of  the  young  Author's  life. 

He  was  taken  to  the  Spirit  Land.  Janu- 
ary 29,  1919. 


of 


I've  a  lily  of  the  Valley 
That  I'm  keeping  here  for  you; 
I  care  for  and  protect  it, 
And  water  it  with  dew. 
It  is  a  living  emblem 
Of  the  wonderful  domain, 
Where  all  is  pure  and  love-like, 
And  where  we  feel  no  pain. 

Yes,  the  Lily  of  the  Valley 
Is  a  tie  twixt  you  and  me; 
For  every  time  you  see  one 
Think  how  happy  I  must  be. 
I'm  an  atom  of  the  infinite, 
How  wonderful  it  seems; 
Yet  from  your  sphere  the  finite 
But  a  thin  veil  intervenes. 


100*0 


I  have  roses  in  my  garden, 
And  their  fragrance  fills  the  air. 
How  I  love  to  watch  them  blooming; 
For  they  all  are  very    fair. 

Some  have  deep  red  velvet  petals, 
Some  again  are  snowy  white; 
And  the  little  baby  pink  ones, 
Surely  give   you   such   delight. 

Pretty  birds  come  to  my  garden, 
And  sing  there  the  live-long  day; 
Yes  the  birds  and  pretty  flowers 
Help  and  cheer  us  on  our  way. 


SPRING 

Spring    time    is    here    with    its    sunshine 

and  showers, 
All    nature    is    waking    from    its    long 

winter  sleep. 
The  gardens  are  blooming  with  beautiful 

flowers, 
The    song-birds    are   carolling    melodies 

sweet. 

SUMMER 

The  summer  comes  with  glaring  heat, 
And  we  will  have  vacation; 
We  pack  our  grips  for  the  seashore  trips, 
Or  other  recreation. 

AUTUMN 

The  harvest  moon  is  shining  bright, 
The  leaves  are  falling  everywhere; 
How  glorious  is  the  autumn  night, 
How  cool  and  bracing  is  the  air. 

WINTER— 

Jack  frost  is  stalking  through  the  land 
The  ground  is  covered  white,  with  snow, 
We  like  to  sit  beside  the  fire 
And  tell  the  tales  of  long  ago. 


A  BIETHDAY  WISH. 

I'm  wishing  a  happy  birthday, 
To  you  my  dear  sweet  friend; 
And  may  every  day  be  a  happy  day 
Is  the  wish  I  will  always  send. 


A  CHRISTMAS  WISH. 

A  Merry  Christmas  Wish  to  you, 
And  may  your  heart  be  gay; 
May  Santa  bring  you  many  things, 
This  Merry  Christmas  day. 


A  NEW  YEAE  WISH 

A  happy  happy,  New  Year, 

We  all  are  wishing  you; 

We  hope  no  sorrow  you  shall  know 

This  whole  year  through. 


ireama 


—40— 


irrama 


Away  o'er  the  hills  in  the  valley  green 
Away  from  the  noise  of  the  busy  town; 
I  dream  sweet  dreams  of  the  olden  days 
Of  you  in  your  beautiful  wedding  gown. 

I  dream  that  you  come  and  sit  by  me 
And  you  hold  my  hand  and  ruff  my  hair; 
Your  eyes  shine  with  a  sweet  delight 
That  I  used  to  see  so  often  there. 

Then  my  heart  is  filled  with  a  hallowed  love 
And  I  know  t'is  but  a  little  way 
To  the  spirit  land,  and  I  know  that  I 
Shall  meet  you  there  some  glad  sweet  day. 

Then  our  wedding  day  in  the  spirit  land 
Will  bQ  filled  with  love  and  joy  serene; 
And  the  infinite  hand  will  guide  us  where 
The  waters  are  still  and  the  valleys  green. 


— 41 — 


ilteata 


Masata  was  an  Indian  boy,  he  lived  on  the 
banks  of  the  Ohio  River  in  Kentucky.  Dur- 
ing the  Revolutionary  War  in  1771,  the 
Americans  were  taking  over  the  land  very 
fast,  and  when  Masata  was  ten  years  old 
his  parents  moved  to  the  wild  regions  of  the 
Dakotas,  taking  Masata  with  them. 

Here  he  enjoyed  life  although  it  was 
much  colder  than  in  his  native  Kentucky, 
and  in  the  Winter  months  he  wore  coats  of 
fur  made  from  bear  skin. 

The  days  soon  became  filled  with  inter- 
esting things  for  Masata.  One  day  when  he 
was  roaming  through  the  wilds,  he  heard  a 
wild  Buffalo  approaching.  He  seemed  al- 
most helpless,  as  he  had  nothing  but  a 
small  bow  and  a  few  arrows,  and  the  buffalo 
was  only  a  short  distance  from  him.  He  be- 
gan to  run  in  what  he  thought  was  the  di- 
rection of  his  home,  but  instead  he  was  go- 
ing in  the  opposite  way.  In  a  few  minutes 

I  o 


iflaaata 


(Continued) 


ftoata 


he  saw  the  smoke  of  a  camp  fire  and  ran 
toward  it.  By  this  time  the  beast  was  very 
close  to  him  and  he  was  almost  in  despair, 
when  the  buffalo  lurched  forward,  then  roll- 
ed over  dead.  Three  Indians  hunting  near 
by  had  hit  him  in  a  vital  spot  with  an 
arrow. 

The  Indians  belonged  to  a  tribe  which 
was  his  father's  most  bitter  enemy,  and  they 
took  him  before  their  chief.  The  chief  ord- 
ered that  he  be  let  live  for  two  moons,  and 
he  was  given  a  bed  of  dry  twigs  to  sleep  on 
as  the  night  was  drawing  near. 

Time  passed  quietly  for  Masata  until  the 
approach  of  the  morning  of  the  second  moon. 
He  had  been  planning  how  he  would  es- 
cape from  his  father's  enemies.  Finally  one 
morning  he  slipped  into  a  bear  skin  and 
hopped  bravely  off  toward  the  woods.  The 
Indians  thinking  he  was  a  bear,  shot  arrows 
at  him  and  wounded  him  in  the  right  arm, 

—45— 


ilaaata 


(Continued) 


—46 


IHaaata 


but  Masata  kept  bravely  on  and  was  soon 
out  of  range  of  the  arrows.  Then  he  band- 
aged his  wounded  arm  the  best  he  could  and 
set  out  for  his  father's  wigwam. 

He  arrived  safely  the  same  evening,  and 
his  parents  were  overjoyed  to  see  him  and 
know  he  was  safe  once  more,  and  the  tribe 
made  a  great  feast,  or  as  they  call  it,  Pow 
Wow,  as  a  welcome  to  his  home  coming. 

While  Masata  was  still  a  young  "brave" 
their  chief  died  and  after  a  great  ceremony, 
Masata  was  made  Chief  of  the  tribes,  and 
was  known  as  great  and  good  ruler. 


47— 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


